i can’t stop crying.
i took another.
nothing works anymore.
i can’t take a breath that doesn’t pain me.
I.
am disposable.
that is something I don’t think
i will ever
get over.
i am to be used,
tricked
cajoled
lied to.
i am but a slave girl.
to be worked
and raped
but never
loved.
i live in a society
that i can never fit in.
i live with a people
that spits me out.
i am tired.
i am beat.
i am ruined.
i am nothing.
im so sad.
and im angry.
i know im angry,
but i dont get to be that.
i have to smile for my child,
and i have to function
cause its all there is,
and i have to ignore my pain
almost all the time
because theres really no point
to any of it
anyway…
i dont get to be.
i dont get to yell.
i dont even get to say
what i really feel.
cause its not about me.
and i dont make the choices.
i dont pull the plug.
i dont stop trying.
i
dont stop
showing up.
-but i want to cry
and i want to yell,
and i want to hurt myself so badly
that there will be marks,
forever.
and maybe im on my way,
but it doesnt seem enough.
i need to be swallowed,
disappeared,
crumbled like bones
as insignificant ash,
to be left forever,
and tipped over by mistake,
in rusted urn,
as a heart no one knew
that never really mattered
at all.
and you know,
none of this makes sense.
its all there,
not here.
here is just me,
and no one knows who i am,
that is true,
and no one hears my screams,
thats true too,
and no one ever,
ever-
sees my tears.
cause thats not allowed.
and no one else gets close enough
to feel me shake.
its too much pain.
too much anguish.
too much abandonment.
too much life.
as so it is
for me.
im struggling like mad here.
im making lots of mistakes.
im hurting myself constantly.
im scared as all get out.
theyre all too close.
im waaay too stupid.
they know they can take advantage
i know that they do.
i can sit in the ER
for a night,
and wonder why i didnt just stay,
in the morning.
the pressure is monumental,
the fright is way too much,
there is less than nothing
in my control,
and i hate my body
a little more
every day.
if i could throw myself onto the pyre
i would.
if i could take back all my softness-
that too.
but more than anything,
i just want to be in dream,
where the new passwords
arent old habits,
and where old habits
didnt kill you.
if one could measure me
in stupidity,,,
theyd finally have something
of weight.
im so weak.
a broken frond,
attached to nothing.
my head is swimming,
and i don’t know
if it’s from being up all night,
or if this is just me now.
they say it’s not normal
to deal with all this stuff,
and i believe them,
but it’s my life..
they say i need a man
or love
or just another set of hands,
to hold,
support..
and all that might indeed
be true-
but id still be stuck with me.
and me just isn’t worth
enough.
i have learnt great truth here.
and it’s pretty basic math,
and im a pretty simple girl,
but if im not worth keeping-
then thats pretty universal.
unless of course,
im someone else.
and if i have to paint my nails
or be stupid
i will.
its not like i have
to give up on my dreams,
theyre already gone,,
from there,
it was easy.
easier at least.
you cant wake the dead.
but you can make new life.
all you got to do
is sell the damn cow.
each day
i think
of what else
i can share
to make me
more accessible,
less private,
more available,
less yours.
my goal
is complete removal
of anything you.
really, most things me as well.
if nothing is shared
alone,
then there’s nothing special
about anything
huh?
but i find myself leaving out
small detail,
because then,
it still leaves
the sacred,
sacred.
if no one knows
the real recipe,
no one gets the real deal huh?
whatever.
i just want to be wanted
at this point.
the rest doesn’t really matter.
screw you
and your godawful
messed up
principles.
screw impossible wishes
borne of nothing more
than a self absorbed
narcissistic dreamer
who plants horrible thoughts
where apparently
life can bloom.
or so they say,
waiting in line
for a chance at planting,,
really,
for the so called honor
of owning
the alabaster garden.
decay away.
the less real
any of these trick feelings are
the better.
that’s all.
it’s the perfect amount
‘cept my stomach hurts..
i don’t want to feel anymore
i want to stop hurting.
my eyes are closing
and im falling asleep
thinking all these new things,,
possibilities,
of lives
i don’t really want..
but I have to keep moving on,
i have to accept what’s offered,
because ive slowly been drowning here,
for two years,
and no one’s ever showed up.
and im drowning still.
dying at a clip.
killing myself harshly-
with those awful Words
playing loudly
in the background.
and I can’t win.
not at this.
i can’t even be
anymore.
so they’ll tell me
who they want,
they’ll tell me who i am,
and i’ll be that.
beause i,
have been completely
and utterly convinced
that there is no point
in being me.
i was seen.
i wasn’t wanted.
and that’s all.
and now, i seem to sell anyway,,
they don’t care about any of it.
but im in a race
for a lifelong lie now..
and i,
i have the smallest of inklings yet…
that i,
don’t win
ever.
up by fright
at four a.m.
no place to go
from there,
huddled by self
in tolls of hell
Still dreams of ghosts
live here…
so sit i still
with book in hand
perhaps others words
dulls real,
try in vain
to seek cocoon,
alone.
on rolling wheel..
and in this rise
of newborn sun
for hours
peel away,
sit i stilled deep
in statued fear
and dread the light
of day…
